


Wherever We Land, May We Grow

by Chash



Series: Charity Drive 2017 [8]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Pre-Relationship, Season/Series 04 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-23
Updated: 2017-02-23
Packaged: 2018-09-26 13:31:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9899324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chash/pseuds/Chash
Summary: Post 404. Bellamy finds out some things he didn't know.





	

**Author's Note:**

> For [alacrity-alacritous](http://alacrity-alacritous.tumblr.com/)! And thanks to [hawthornewhisperer](http://archiveofourown.org/users/hawthornewhisperer) for a consult.

Bellamy doesn't have the ability to think much about the actual state of his people after he gets dragged out of prison. Which isn't really a bad thing; he doesn't want to think about being a hostage or about the Azgeda marching on Arkadia, or--well, he doesn't want to think at all, honestly. Total numbness is an improvement over anything else he could be feeling, and even once Clarke has made peace, even once they're on the way back home, there's the blank, glaring emptiness, the inability to connect with anything, to even start to care about the world ending, until Clarke slides in next to him and asks, "Bellamy, what is it? What's wrong?" Which doesn't really count as _feeling_ anything, just as something he has to process.

His mouth can't make the words, not even for her. It's not that he doesn't want her to know; it's that he can't possibly say it, not without--not at all. Not in any universe.

Kane is still next to him, and he's the one who says, "Octavia."

Bellamy is looking ahead and down, watching his own feet. One in front of the other. Left, right. Left, right. It takes all his focus.

"What about her?"

"She--didn't make it out of Polis. Azgeda--"

" _Bellamy_ ," Clarke says, and it's not the tone he expected. "Yes, she did. She made it out."

His eyes jerk up; She's watching him, ready for it, her face open, honest, and sure. "What?" he asks, voice cracking even on the single syllable. 

"She's in Arkadia. She was hurt, too badly to come, but--she'll make it. I patched her up before I left. She's fine, Bellamy. She's going to be fine."

The relief is too profound for him to say anything. His eyes drop back to his feet, filling up with new tears. _Fine_. She's fine.

"They told us--" Kane says, abortive. Bellamy looks at him out of the corner of his eye, and he's glancing over his shoulder, like he'll see Echo following them, waiting for the punchline.

"I'm sure they believed it," Clarke says, but it doesn't sound like she's defending anyone. Just stating the facts. "She was soaked and bleeding when she got to us. She said she fell in the river." She steps closer, and after a second of hesitation, slides her hand in his. "She's okay."

He holds onto her so hard he's sure he must be hurting her, but she doesn't flinch, doesn't move away. 

"We'll go check on her as soon as we're back," she says. "I promise she's all right. I wouldn't have left if I thought she wasn't. I'm our best doctor right now," she adds, and he realizes it's to Kane.

"You're also the leader," he says. It's not quite a rebuke, but it's close. "We wouldn't have made it through without you."

"You two might not have," Clarke grants, and her own hand tightens in Bellamy's. 

Not everyone would have prioritized the hostages. They're just two people.

"You did well, Clarke," Kane tells her.

"Thanks." He still can't look at her, but he hears the warmth in her voice when she says, "We'll be back before you know it," and it makes him smile in spite of himself.

"I already know it," he says.

It must have been what she was looking for. She bumps her shoulder against his. "We'll be back soon, then."

"Yeah."

He doesn't let go of her hand until they're in the infirmary and he's running to his sister. She's asleep, but alive, her pulse steady under his fingers, and he has no idea when Clarke leaves. He can't see anything but O.

For the next two days, he doesn't leave the clinic. Octavia is asleep more than she's awake, but every time she wakes up, she looks for him, and he refuses to not be there when she does. It feels wasteful, self-indulgent, _stupid_. If they only have two months left, two days is an eternity.

But if they only have two months left, it feels like more of a waste to leave his sister's side.

Clarke stops by with food, and when she does, he asks her how it's going. She gives him quick updates, and he offers opinions when he has them.

Monty comes by to check on her a few times, and Harper too. Jasper does once. He doesn't notice anything off yet; Clarke seems worn and stressed, but that's nothing new. They're all worn and stressed. They always are.

Octavia recovers, and she signs herself up for hunting duty.

"O--"

"We need food, Bell. I'm fine," she adds. "I won't be alone."

It's the tenderness in her voice that gets him. She isn't dismissing him, but his sister doesn't know how to be idle. And this is her skill set.

"You're not going until tomorrow," says Clarke, not looking up from her notes. "Doctor's orders. If you want to help, you can work on the radiation shield."

Octavia nods and leaves, and it isn't hard, to have her out of his sight. She can take care of herself. He got himself kidnapped by Azgeda; he doesn't have high ground.

And they don't have time to waste.

He sits down next to Clarke. "Anything from your mom and Raven?"

"They're working on it. The nightblood is tricky. They need to figure out--how it's produced. Mount Weather did it with bone marrow, but--we only have Luna, and she won't be a match for many people. But Becca made the nightbloods in the first place, so--"

"Can we agree nightblood is a stupid name?" he asks, and her surprised laugh is the most gratifying thing he's heard since O woke up and said, _Bell?_

"What?"

"No style. I think she could have done better."

"Says the guy who named his sister Octavia."

"It's got the weight of history." He wets his lips, glances at her. She looks so exhausted. "How's it going? Really?"

"Our best-case scenario is still a hundred people. That's--Roan wasn't wrong. It wasn't ever supposed to be just us. It shouldn't just be us."

"We can change the list. Put--" He makes a face. "Not him. But we can put some of his people on there."

Her mouth quirks up in a small smile. "You don't want to spend five years with Roan?"

"He's not my first choice," he says, instead of, _he can have my spot_. If he's on the list, Clarke's on the list; if he takes himself off, he doesn't have a bargaining chip. He can't keep her on there without himself. "We'll figure it out, Clarke," he adds, soft.

Her smile is shaky, exhausted, and he wonders, for what feels like the thousandth time since she came back, how to make this _better_. It's impossible to fix things, but--he thinks he could be doing more for her.

The future is a void, unthinkable. But he could help her today. He could make today better for her, if he just knew how.

"I know. I'm glad Octavia is okay."

"Me too." He exhales. "I guess I should go help too, right?"

It looks like she's going to say something else, and finally settles on, "I don't want you on hunting parties either."

"Clarke, that was--"

"I need you here," she says, not looking at him, and he wonders if he'll ever get used to the idea. If her saying that she needs _him_ will ever be anything other than the best kind of terrifying. "I didn't--I can't."

"Yeah," he manages. His mouth has never been so dry. "O can go for me."

He can see her catch her lip in her teeth, and he's struck by the desire to tug her into his arms and never let go. It's not a new desire, but it's getting stronger and stronger. "Thanks."

"Hunting sucks anyway." He clears throat. "I'm going to go check on the rations station. I'll see you at dinner?"

"Yeah. See you."

Jasper and Monty are working the drying hut, and he gives them a nod when he joins them. Monty smiles, but Jasper looks unimpressed. Which is par for the course with Jasper these days.

Still, when he says, "She finally told you you have to work, huh?" Bellamy is caught totally off guard.

"What?" he asks.

"Jasper," Monty says, low, and Bellamy's eyes flick to him.

"What," he repeats.

"Clarke made a list," Jasper says. "One hundred people who get to survive. You made it. We didn't."

All the guilt of it washes over him, the hot shame of allowing her to say he deserves this, but he shakes it off. That's not really what matters. "She told you?"

Jasper's laugh is harsh. "Told us? Of course not. You think Clarke would talk to _us_ about that? When she could do it all by herself?"

It's not news, that people are mad at her. Bellamy was mad at her too, and he knows she took time with him she didn't take with other people.

But the size of what he must have missed feels staggering.

His eyes flick to Monty, and Monty looks away. "You didn't see what she was like," he says. "She locked Jasper up."

"Just because I wanted people to know the truth. She already decided who was going to be saved."

"Someone had to," Bellamy says. And then, because he doesn't know how not to say it, "She didn't do it alone."

Jasper lets out a harsh sound, some derisive parody of a laugh. "You don't have to protect her. The list is gone, you're not safe. You're not special anymore." His eyes rove over Bellamy, like an unfamiliar person watching him from inside Jasper's skin. "She put herself on too, you know," he adds, like it's some terrible thing. Like Clarke doesn't deserve to live.

"Jasper," Monty says, a warning. But he's watching Bellamy. "You helped?"

Jaha passed out on the way back to the bunker, so it was just him and Clarke, trading ideas so he wouldn't fall asleep at the wheel. _We're going to have to have kids_ , she said. _So it should be as many reproductive-age women as we can manage. Sixty-forty, you think? I should check medical records. Fuck_.

_Are we just going with the forty hottest guys, then?_ he asked, and it made her laugh, like he hoped it would. _Maybe thirty. Ten utility guys, thirty studs_.

She ducked her head, and he couldn't tell if she was smiling or about to cry. _Which one are you?_

"I thought you saw the list," he says, shaking himself out of the memory.

"Yeah, and?" says Jasper.

He flexes his fingers. "She didn't put herself on it. Come on, my handwriting is a lot worse than hers."

Jasper pauses, clearly taken aback for a second, but he recovers to sneer, "You think that makes it better?"

He was always a lost cause; Bellamy is watching Monty, and Monty looks thoughtful. "It's fucked up," he says. "You _know_ it's fucked up."

"It was always going to be fucked up," he grants. "We were never supposed to use it. It wasn't--it's a worst-case scenario. If we don't come up with something better, we need a last resort. That's it. That's the list. And it's not just on her." It's on the tip of his tongue to mention Raven, to say Clarke never wanted to make the list in the first place, but--she didn't say it. Clarke was protecting both of them, but Raven isn't here to opt out. "You really think a lottery's better?" he asks instead.

"I think honesty is better," he says, stubborn. "You can't lead people who don't trust you, Bellamy."

"Yeah, you can't." He lets the statement sit for a long moment. "Do you?"

"Do I what?"

"Trust her."

"Not like I used to," he admits. "Not like I want to." Before Bellamy can argue, he says, "But you do."

"Yeah."

"I trust you," says Monty. "But I didn't know if--I thought she did it alone."

"Seriously, my handwriting really doesn't look anything like hers," he grumbles, and Monty smiles a little, some soft encouragement. "It only makes sense for one person to write, anyway. Why would we trade off holding the pen?"

"She didn't say anything about it." It's not an excuse, it's an observation.

"Yeah," says Bellamy. "I guess she didn't."

He doesn't let himself stop working to talk to her. The last thing he wants is for anyone to think he's slacking on his duties, that he's so confident he'll be saved because of his closeness to Clarke that he doesn't bother with doing what's needed.

He doesn't mind people who don't know them thinking that. But it makes it hard for him to breathe that Monty can't trust Clarke without him. And it's harder because he gets it. He does. He doesn't like it, but he understands.

No wonder she asked him not to leave again.

She doesn't show up at dinner, which isn't a surprise, so he goes to grab an extra plate for her, like he usually does, only to have one of the cooks stop him.

"No extra portions."

"It's not extra, I'm bringing it to Clarke."

"She can get her own. It's _her_ rationing plan."

He can feel his jaw tick, but he reins it in. "She's working," he says. "You want to come with me to make sure I don't eat it? I don't mind. It's a pain to open doors with two trays." A smile is playing around her lips, so he gives her one of his own. "Seriously, she's a good worker. You want me to keep her alive for as long as possible."

"We can't be making exceptions," she says. He doesn't argue, and she cracks. "You can take it tonight, but tell her to come down here if she wants to eat from now on."

"I'm going to tell her she has to eat," he says. "I'm not giving her the option to get out of it." He gives her another smile. "Really, thanks. It won't happen again."

The door to her office is closed when he gets there, so he just kicks it, and then kicks it again when there's no answer.

"What?" Clarke yells from inside.

"I brought food, let me in."

There's a pause, and then he hears the click of a lock, and there she is. She looks even more exhausted than she did this morning, which makes sense. It's not like he thought she was napping all afternoon.

"Bellamy," she says, sounding breathless.

"Got a lot of people kicking down your door, Princess?"

Her mouth quirks. "More than I'd like."

"You have to start coming to the mess hall, by the way," he says, putting the trays down in front of the couch so she won't be able to go back to her desk to eat. "Rules are for everyone. They're not giving me your rations anymore."

"I lost track of time."

"Yeah, I bet. I'll come on my way next time."

"You don't have to do that," she says, but she sits down next to him and picks up her plate. 

"You didn't have to tell everyone you wrote that list alone," he shoots back. He takes care of her, she takes care of him. They don't _have_ to. They just do.

To his relief, she smiles instead of wincing. "That really doesn't have anything to do with dinner."

"No. But I want to hear what happened."

"Jasper and Monty were--pulling a stupid prank. They broke in here, and they found the list." He can see her thinking about it, but she adds, "Jasper was going to read it over the speakers. I stunned him and called the guard to lock him up."

He nods. "I handcuffed you."

That gets a laugh, just a soft huff. "It's not a competition, Bellamy."

"No. But--we've all make shitty choices. You've made a lot more good than bad."

"I hope so." Her eyes flick to him. "I didn't want to bring you down with me. Even if they turned on me, you could--" She swallows hard, and his heart tugs. He'd wondered, a little. If she'd done it on purpose. If she'd taken the fall to spare him, or if it just hadn't occurred to her to share the blame.

Either way, it's not quite right. "It doesn't work like that. It's you and me, Clarke. Everyone knows that. If they don't want you, they don't want me either."

"That's not true."

"You think I'd just stop talking to you if I was in charge?"

"I think we could be--discreet."

He has to smile. "So, your plan was to lose power, get me in charge, and then lie about still being friends with me? No wonder people don't trust you."

"I was the one who made that list. I put down the names."

"I passed out and you didn't wait until I woke up to finish. That's not the same thing."

"That's what you get for passing out," she says, and he doesn't let her have it.

"If they don't want you leading, they don't want me leading."

She smiles. "If you're on the list, I'm on the list."

"You could have at least told them you didn't write yourself down. I can't believe no one noticed."

"I didn't think it mattered."

She's not meeting his eyes, so he doesn't believe her. But he doesn't need to push. He gets it. He knows. "This is why you need me," he says instead. "I could have told you it did."

"That's not the only reason I need you," she says, so soft, and his bite of meat is suddenly hard to swallow, like a wad of lead on his tongue.

"Have you been sleeping?" he asks, once his voice is finally working.

"What?"

"Are you sleeping?"

"As much as I can. You're not sleeping either," she adds, vaguely accusatory.

"Probably more than you are." It shouldn't be easy to say, but he thinks it should be easier. He's not _worried_ , not really. He's not going to ruin anything. Even if she says no, he isn't. He's sure. "This is going to be like the food, huh? You aren't going to sleep unless I make you."

"You don't have to escort me to my room, Bellamy." There's a smile playing on her lips, like she thinks it's a nice idea, and that helps too.

"I don't escort you to the mess hall. I make sure you eat." He gives her half a smile. "I could make sure you sleep, too."

Her exhalation of breath is so shaky he's afraid she's going to start crying again, but it's more relieved than anything, in spite of that. "You can?"

"I bet I can. And if you're already with me, it's easier to make you get breakfast."

"Planning ahead," she teases, and he smiles.

"We save who we can save today," he says, and lets himself add, "I think I can save you."

"You don't have to."

"Yeah, well. You didn't have to cover for me for the list either. But that's what we do, right? We take care of each other."

"Yeah." She pauses, and then she leans into him, not quite hugging, nothing familiar at all. Just--there. Wa and solid and close; something he could get used to. "I'm glad you're back."

"Yeah, me too." He pauses. "I don't like the lottery."

"I know. But it was always a last resort, right? We're going to find another way."

"Yeah." She looks like she's already falling asleep, and he nudges her. "This couch isn't that great to sleep on, trust me. I'm pretty sure we can do better."

"Yeah," she agrees, getting up and offering her hand. "I bet we can."


End file.
